Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the kitchen seemed to buzz louder than usual, assaulting chef Amelia's senses. The critic's words, "uninspired," "bland," and "lacking passion," echoed in her mind. A wave of exhaustion washed over her. She just wanted to… stop.

She leaned heavily against the stainless steel counter, the cold metal doing little to dispel the inertia that held her in place. Her head ached, a dull throbbing that seemed to match the low rumble of her stomach. The prep list lay untouched, a battlefield she couldn't face.

"Chef?" A young cook poked his head around the corner. "Are you alright? We're running out of duck fat." Amelia just waved a hand, a gesture that encompassed everything and nothing at once.